


teeth

by creabird



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But he's kinda soft, Car Sex, Choking, Dirty Talk, Fix-It, Joseph Kavinsky Lives, Joseph Kavinsky is His Own Warning, Kavinsky calls Ronan like 27 different Names, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mentions of Suicide Attempts, Mentions of Violence, Power Bottom Kavinsky, Ronan Lynch is Whipped, just a little, mentions of drug abuse, redemption arc, slight daddy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-24 05:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20902556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creabird/pseuds/creabird
Summary: Ronan Lynch doesn't leave Kavinsky behind after creating the Camaro.





	1. talk so pretty but your heart got teeth

**Author's Note:**

> listen i just finished dream thieves and im not ok  
kavinsky is my baby boy and i will not rest until i'v given him the ending he deserves (being alive and kissing ronan lynch)  
i havent read bllb and trk yet so there wont be any spoilers from that

“I’m going.”

For a moment, Kavinsky’s face was perfectly blank, and then _Kavinsky_ flickered back into it. It was the usual, flames and smoke in his black eyes, but there was something behind the chaos. Something dead or dying. He said, “You’re shitting me.”

“I’ll send flowers.” Ronan revved the engine. Exhaust and dust swirled in a wild torment behind the Camaro. It coughed at twenty-eight-hundred rpm. Just like the Pig. Everything was back the way it was. Was it? Kavinsky was clutching the ugly white sunglasses in a boney hand, knuckles busted like always, like his own.

“Running back to your master?”

“This was fun,” Ronan said. “Time for big-boy games now, though.” He felt telling him what he meant would be wrong, but it would be a relief for Kavinsky’s tired eyes, the bruises under his eyes. Ronan probably didn’t look any better, but at least he knew the bigger picture. He knew more than _in and out like a motherfucking thief._

“You’re a player in his life, Lynch,” K said. Instead of the usual flare of anger, Ronan stayed calm. He had heard a hint of something in his words, like the smell of smoke and burned plastic lingering on the field around them. 

_The difference between us and Kavinsky, _Gansey whispered in Ronan’s head, _is we matter. _Ronan hesitated. It was the self-indulgent, over-confident thing Gansey always said, Ronan always agreed. Usually.

“You don’t fucking _need _him,” Kavinsky said. Ronan looked at him. They locked eyes. _Fuck_. Gansey would fucking kill him, picture perfect Pig or not. Ronan leaned over the console and pushed open the passenger’s door with a loud creak.

“Get in,” Ronan rasped out. His mouth was dry. Kavinsky stared at him in disbelief, in distrust. The hesitation was too unusual to not bug Ronan.

“K, it’s never going to be just you and me. Either you get _in_ or you’re on your own.” Kavinsky took an unsure step forward. His confused manner didn’t look good on him.

“There’s only _with me_ or _against me_,” he said, chin tilting up in defiance. Crossing his arms, his shaking hands became visible again, his bitten down fingernails reddish around the edges.

“The world doesn’t always have to be all or nothing,” Ronan said. Even to him, it felt weird, untrue somehow.

He added, “You showed me your secrets, Kavinsky, now it’s our turn.” He didn’t say _my turn_. It wasn’t only _his_ secret. It felt like the right and wrong decision at the same time. But maybe, having K on their side would give them something, maybe, he could save Cabeswater if he just asked him _nicely_ to stop dreaming for a while. It was a risk. _All or nothing_.

“_I will burn you down,_” Kavinsky said, as he swung his skinny frame into the Camaro, slamming the door shut.

“You’ll burn yourself down with it, Kavinsky, I’d be careful,” Ronan growled, already regretting his decision. Doing something _nice _felt wrong. But having Kavinsky as an enemy any longer, now that he knew what he could do, seemed like a bad idea, more so.

He released the park brake and they hit the streets.

-

When he spotted Gansey’s suburban by Mennonites, Kavinsky had been silent for some time, which seemed uncharacteristic for him. Ronan wasn’t sure if he was pouting or scared.

Ronan had answered his question of what other secret there was with, “Gansey will tell you or no one will,” and then ignored him which had first sent K into a rage fit (punching the console, and occasionally Ronan, but not hard enough to crash the car) and then into a nervous frenzy (he tried to hide it, but his leg was bouncing at high speed and he was biting his lips and nails in turns) and then he was silent. Ronan wondered if he had died, overdosed or from exhaustion (he seemed to live off pills and cheap vodka and it had been a few minutes since then).

When Ronan bumped Gansey’s car from behind and leaned out the window to steer him onto the parking lot, K went almost rigid still against his seat, before forcibly relaxing his limbs and features, his Kavinsky snarl/grin returning to his mouth (he had smashed his sunglasses on the ride and his endless dream supplies were stacked in the 100 Mitsubishis).

-

(a few months later)

When Ronan returned to Monmouth Manufacturing from school, he wasn’t surprised to find Kavinsky lounging on his bed, cigarette in hand (no matter how many times Gansey threatened K to throw him out if he kept smoking, they all knew well he never would – all of them had watched Kavinsky die a thousand times during his withdrawal and no matter what an asshole he was, they had grown together like poisonous fungi over trees).

“_Hey, princess_,” K drawled, lazy smile spreading over his face as if it lived there. Ronan payed him no mind as he threw his bag and Aglionby sweater into a corner and picked up a box of food for Chainsaw, stroking her soft feathers as she picked at his fingers. While Ronan was just like his raven, moody and dark, Kavinsky looked like a big cat draped over the sheets, purring through lethal teeth.

Ronan put the box down and turned to K, leaning over his lean form (clad in one of Ronan’s jeans and t-shirt, for whatever reason) to snatch the cigarette from his mouth. But Kavinsky caught his hand, interlacing their fingers around it and blowing grey smoke into his face. Ronan felt like snapping at him with his teeth - or kissing him. His mind blanked at the Virginia heat flushed cheeks before him (K didn’t look as skeletal anymore, his cheeks dusted with tiny freckles and scars littering his cheeks).

Kavinsky had always been flirtatious, had confronted him, becoming the first person Ronan would admit (or not deny) his sexuality to. Kavinsky was an asshole, an (ex) criminal, a thief, an arsonist and all around maniac, but he _was_ pretty. Ronan should break his nose for that. But they didn’t do that any more (at least not if Blue was around to sense it, and Blue sensed them fighting from Fox Way and beyond. Kavinsky had blushed once when she had insisted to put a hello kitty band aid over a scab on his cheek. Ronan couldn’t stop staring at him all day).

“_Just do it_, Ro, I know you want to,” Kavinsky purred, pointing at the nike logo on his shirt like a fucking dumbass. He was more stable these days. They still got drunk. Kavinsky still stuck his half-smoked cigarettes between Ronan’s teeth for him to get rid of out the window.

But Kavinsky didn’t rely on the drugs anymore, the coke, the green little pills, or the red one. He dreamed only when he fell asleep naturally (only in close vicinity to Ronan, or not at all) and he never brought back anything more than scratches or tears (or hickeys, Ronan remembered that time they had met in Cabeswater).

He blinked at Kavinsky, feeling the cigarette burn out and daring to disappear in a hot sting between their fingers. They had kissed before. Or more precisely, Kavinsky had kissed him before. Always when Ronan was too drunk to protest much (consent was not a word Kavinsky used a lot, or thought about for that matter) or in dreams, when Ronan felt safe no one was judging him for returning them.

K was still a destructive asshole, sometimes raging, sometimes sulking, sometimes taking what he wanted without asking first (thief at heart), but still, Ronan very much felt like it was time for him to remember more than fuzzy memories of K’s lips.

He dropped the cigarette on the concrete ground, stepping on it with his boots and quirking his brow at the other boy.

“What do I want then, K?” he asked, hand now tightened not only around his hand, but the other on his neck, thumb under a pointy chin, pressing into soft skin. The grin he was focused on turned into a grin/snarl, showing teeth.

Kavinsky’s smiles still felt like a fight in a back alley most times, except for when he woke up from a dream, twitching and shivering, Ronan asking _nightmare?_ and Kavinsky answering with a soft/hurt smile, another twitch, _the world’s a nightmare, Lynch._ Now he said,

“You want to kiss me, sweetheart, want to _have_ me, own me,” he drawled, voice always too low and loud at the same time, words always too dramatic to be taken all too seriously, but Ronan was too dramatic himself, he continue “just like Dick III owns _you_, baby,” the pet names always returned when Kavinsky was jealous.

“But I don’t like sharing,” he added, baring his throat for Ronan’s fingers to spread. There was a stick and poke of a gun edged beneath his jaw bone. Because Ronan didn’t like to submit easily, he pressed a kiss to that instead, mouth lingering to calm his heart, which didn’t work (it never did).

“Gansey doesn’t own me, K, but neither do you,” Ronan said, lips on skin, tickling. He felt Kavinsky’s hand tug at the loops on his jeans, pulling him down on his lap. They were always tugging, twisting, pushing around for the upper hand. Ronan shook the heating thoughts from his head (it never worked).

“Ro, baby, it’s either _with me_ or against me. We belong to or we don’t,” (he didn’t say _each other_). The old all or nothing. Just as Ronan liked it. He lifted his head from the crook of a warm neck and looked at Kavinsky from under his eye lashes.

“You could learn to share,” he said, but he didn’t mean it. He didn’t want him to. Instead of clarifying, (K knew anyway, at the pleased twitch of his mouth) he finally kissed him.

Heat and skin and teeth and tongue. K’s hands were on his ass, Ronan tangled his in Kavinsky’s hair and squeezed around his throat just a little. They separated just an inch, to breathe (or more to stare, very heatedly).

“You could be the death of me, K,” Ronan said and meant it but also didn’t. K was death one second and life the next. All or nothing. Full risk. The sharp lines of Kavinsky’s face were dangerous, his nails were digging into his skin.

They heard a rumbling. The Camaro was returning. With Gansey and Adam and Blue in it (Noah was somewhere empty). Ronan pulled away a little farther, but he made no move to get up. Kavinsky let himself fall back into the sheets again and Ronan followed, rolling to the side, face’s aligned, legs tangled. Along the way somewhere, they had become more one entity than two boys hating each other.

They heard the door open. Gansey hadn’t really liked it, when Ronan told him that Kavinsky should stay (the other house was big and empty, with his mother gone and he had found K with a knife to his wrist, the other time with a lighter to the curtain and the living room wouldn't stop smelling like gasoline after that). Gansey had liked it less when Ronan told him that Kavinsky would stay in his room.

Kavinsky suddenly clutched Ronan’s throat with both his pale, scratched up hands. No power behind it. Their noses were touching. Kavinsky’s smile looked ready to kill someone.

“I will always love you _more_, Lynch,” he said. He didn’t say _than him_ or _every day_ or _than myself. _Ronan knew, of course, he wasn't surprised. _  
_

Ronan kissed him, softly this time. “That’s because you hate everything else, K,” he said. He didn’t say _I love you too_ or _I know_ or _I also love them_, though. Kavinsky knew that, so he wasn't disappointed (only a little).

Kavinsky was with him or against him. Kavinsky was all or nothing. He was love or hate. Ronan liked that about him. He liked how he stole his kisses and his breath and then threw them back in a vicious punch. He liked how he stole his heart and spat it at him with a curse the next minute.

It wasn’t the rage, the anger – Adam had it inside him, that all-consuming fire of an abused heart, he had that all. It wasn’t his passion either or his possessiveness – Gansey’s passion was Ronan’s too, his mission, and he thought he owned Ronan sometimes, or at least that he should, but it wasn’t like Kavinsky. It wasn’t his maniac ramblings or unnoticed quirks (like Blue) or his clingy affection or smudged away sadness either (like Noah).

He was somehow all of those things Ronan loved and more and more and _more_. Ronan untangled himself slightly, leaning over to grab a beer from his nightstand (it was warm and disgusting).

He let his gaze wander over Kavinsky in his old ripped blue jeans and a obnoxiously bright orange T-shirt Ronan was sure he’d worn like once, as Kavinsky’s fingers busied themselves with the leather bands at his wrist (he had stolen the old ones and Ronan had put on the ones Kavinsky had given him all those months ago).

He heard Blue and Gansey bickering over something including radical feminism and republicans from the main room and Adam’s pen scratching over paper after paper (though Ronan was better at Latin than him, he would copy his homework later). Noah (back from nothing) was fiddling around with the stereo as it sounded and Blue shouted song after song title over the static of the radio.

Kavinsky sighed, “Should we join these fuckers then, Lynch?” he barked out, snarl/grin creeping into place, making to get up. But Ronan twisted over him, pressing him into the sheets, hands on bony shoulders and crashed their foreheads together. _More_.

“First you should love me some more, Kavinsky,” he snarled, ignoring Blue’s scandalized yelp at Kavinsky’s loud moan when Ronan sucked a hickey into his neck.

“Hey, you _thieves_,” he heard her shout, while her tiny feet stomped through the room, probably in some sort of ugly rubber boots, “keep your slobbering down to a minimum while humans of minor age inhabit this space, alright?” Kavinsky pushed out a barking laugh into Ronan’s cheek. Weirdly, K liked her the best out of all of them.

“Don’t worry, Sargent, I’ll tell Lynch to bite down on something while I-“ and the rest was muffled as Ronan pressed Kavinsky's face into the pillow, letting go only to cover his mouth with his own.


	2. fight so dirty but your love's so sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uhh  
this isnt reall pwithoutp but more like pwithalittlep if ya get what i mean  
hav fun  
also time isn't linear dont get confused boys

-

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Lynch? Dick III not fuck you happy today?”

Ronan scowled down at the math book in front of him. Kavinsky stood in the door to his room, which was dim and dusty, sunglasses on and a cigarette behind his ear. He looked stupid, Ronan decided, ignoring the quickening beat of his heart as he caught a whiff of Kavinsky’s too strong cologne.

Since they told Kavinsky everything they knew about Cabeswater and Glendower (to Gansey’s dismay) and somehow convinced him to stop stealing Mitsubishi after Mitsubishi from it, K had been in a _bad_ mood. He wasn’t really outright trying to hurt them, but he was far from _perfectly fucking civil_. Joseph _Detestable_ Kavinsky. Ronan didn’t get why everything he said still made his cheeks burn.

Kavinsky had listened, and had agreed to limit his thieving, because even he understood that if they kept going at this rate, Cabeswater would die and they could never dream again. But while to Ronan, this was more of a relief than a burden, to Kavinsky stealing was just another one of his addictions. And his addictions were his life.

And because he couldn’t dream anymore, he didn’t seem to sleep at all anymore. Instead he threw back bottle after bottle and pill after pill and he kept coming here, to Monmouth, and bothering Ronan with mean comments and jabs as if he were a manifestation in the back of Ronan’s head.

Since Ronan hadn’t answered, K had stepped forward into the room, not even bothering to close the door behind him and peered down at where Ronan sat on the bed with his homework in disgust.

“What, don’t tell me you’re doing _homework_, Lynch,” he said, pronouncing _homework_ as if it were poisonous. Well, if it were, Kavinsky might’ve liked it better. Ronan kept ignoring him.

It was true, he had tried to help Kavinsky in a way, by telling him of Cabeswater, but he was still terribly bad at being nice, especially when they were being perfectly despicable assholes. Kavinsky flopped down next to him, squishing a pile of work sheets with his bony ass.

“Come on, baby, have a joint with me, instead of doing _that_ shit,” he drawled, twisting said thing between his fingers. Ronan glanced at him while scribbling down numbers that didn’t make any sense into his book. He raised his left hand to slam down Kavinsky’s wrist into the sheets.

“Unlike you, I actually want to finish school with a certificate,” he mumbled. Kavinsky laughed out loud in that hyena type of way.

“Since when, Lynch? That’s a lie and you know it, sweetheart, besides I already got that certificate either way,” he said. Ronan remembered that time Kavinsky had showed him the piece of paper he had forged, identical to the one he had seen hang in the director’s office. Kavinsky probably spent enough time there to know it perfectly well.

It was also true that Ronan didn’t really care, but he felt that with befriending Kavinsky and sharing their secrets, he needed to stay on Gansey’s good side for a while – attending class and doing homework the way that proper students did.

“Also, you might as well not do it at all if you’re gonna do it all wrong like a fucking dumbass, Lynch,” K added and Ronan froze. He hadn’t noticed that he had been paying so close attention. Somehow that made him angry.

“I suck at math okay! Don’t pretend you can do it any better, Mr. Brown probably doesn’t even know what you _look_ like,” he snarled at him, slamming the book shut over Kavinsky’s hand which had crept into the pages. He didn’t even flinch.

“Lemme see this you fucking teacher’s bitch,” Kavinsky snarled back, making a grabby hand for Ronan’s pen. His pupils were so dilated they looked almost entirely black. His nose was red and dry.

Ronan obeyed, slumping back against the headboard, his head cracking against the wall with a low thump. Out of the corner of his eye he watched K scrawl answers to the questions in the empty margins next to them, just like Ronan had. He crossed out the ones Ronan had done wrong (most of them).

“Does snorting coke make you a math genius or something?” he asked, frowning (it looked more like a pout).

“Nah, unlike _you_ cocksucker, I actually have a brain,” Kavinsky said, snarl/grin spreading onto his face, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Not for much longer if you keep killing all your brain cells with drugs,” Ronan said. He hadn’t meant to sound worried. Well. The bruises under Kavinsky’s eyes were dark enough to look like someone had punched him. He added, “I mean, I get the alcohol man, but seriously? All those pills and powders are gonna fuck you up for real.”

“I’m already fucked up, Lynch, nothing to save there. Dying’s a boring side effect,” Kavinsky said, underlining his words with three inky lines scratched under the final answer. He threw the book against Ronan’s chest hard enough for his breath to hitch.

“There ya go, sweetheart, daddy will help you with your homework anytime,” Ronan groaned at the words.

“God, shut the fuck up, Kavinsky,” he closed his eyes hoping it would hide the blush on his cheeks, “Now I feel like I need to be nice to you for doing that,” he continued.

“Easy, boy, we all have daddy issues, don’t we? Anyway, are you gonna smoke this joint with me now or what?” Ronan punched him for good measure.

-

Ronan was out in public with Kavinsky (not punching each other). He was out _in public_, where people could see them. It wasn’t like Ronan cared what people thought of him. But this was _Kavinsky_.

“Ugh, why are we doing this again?” he asked, pulled along by Kavinsky who was almost skipping with excitement.

“Come on, dude, it’s _Endgame_! I can’t believe you haven’t seen it in the movies yet!” Kavinsky didn’t look like someone who cared for movies. Especially _Marvel_. But, Ronan guessed, since becoming clean, he had needed _a lot_ of distraction. It was kinda cute. He shook his head.

“Yeah, whatever, K,” he grumbled. Kavinsky was wearing his most obnoxious dream-thieved hype beast outfit, _just to bug him_, Ronan thought. Some sort of cargo pants, but with too many clasps and pockets and belts to look functional (black, with Japanese print on it in bright red). This was Virginia, for fuck’s sake. It was like 100 degrees outside.

But that wasn’t all, on top of that he wore a short-sleeved silk shirt with the most un-virginia-y print (bright red with a blue Chinese _dragon_ curling around his torso) and way too many fucking gold chains dangled around his neck (Ronan tried not to think of how the silk would feel against his skin).

Of course, his white sunglasses, white sneakers that looked way too big (he was now taller than him, Ronan sulked), and more chains clasped onto any loop the pants gave way for. Oh god. At least he wasn’t wearing one of those silly caps he sometimes did; his hair looked soft (Ronan wanted to twist it between his fingers).

Ronan himself was wearing black skinny jeans and a black t-shirt. He liked the way his tattoos looked, peeking out from the hem.

Staring at an especially ridiculously long chain slipping almost past Kavinsky’s knees, Ronan’s eyes moved up to his back (he was definitely not looking at Kavinsky’s ass; nothing to see there). Ronan had fallen behind a little and so, didn’t notice when Kavinsky stopped and turned around, almost running into him.

He hated how they weren’t eye to eye anymore. Kavinsky by himself was a minimal amount taller than him, but now it was a good few inches. He glanced up at him from beneath his eyelashes. Kavinsky had a shit eating grin splitting his face in two (very handsome halves).

“My eyes are up here, sweetheart,” he said and Ronan instantly blushed. Which was embarrassing in itself because Lynches didn’t blush. Maybe Kavinsky had killed the real Ronan Lynch and dreamt himself a copy that was more… _flustered_.

Ronan shouldered past him. “Come on _fuckhead_, let’s see this fucking movie,” he growled. Kavinsky cackled loudly. People were looking at them.

“Yeah, after that you gotta tell me who exactly got America’s ass; Captain America or Adam Parrish,” Ronan swirled around ready to break his jaw. Kavinsky ducked easily. “What? He’s got a good ass! I mean, you’re close Lynch, but you’re a skinny bastard. Don’t worry I like ‘em that way. Easier to grab,” (he made grabby hands), “But also, some meat’s never wrong,” (Ronan groaned), “You’re still my fave though, princess, never to worry,” (Kavinsky didn’t shut up until the trailers started).

-

Kavinsky had insisted to drive them to the movies (even though it was like 10 minutes away from Monmouth). It was actually fun (mostly because Kavinsky was so invested he didn’t talk all too much). He had dragged him back to the Mitsubishi in almost silence (only rambling on about Steve Rogers’ butt) which was scary.

But when he started the car, he didn’t take them back to Monmouth, but started driving into the direction of the drag strip with the other 99 Mitsubishis.

“What’re you doing, K?” Ronan mumbled, having gotten a little sleepy after 3 hours of blockbuster explosions. Kavinsky’s hand crept over to Ronan’s thigh. He was too tired to be embarrassed at the blush spreading over his face. Kavinsky (silent until they arrived) pulled over onto a free spot. The air around them felt eerie with stolen magic. 

Kavinsky grinned at him (it was softer than usual), “This is where we first kissed,” he said. Ronan choked, “What?!”

“Oh yeah, I always forget you were totally drugged out,” Kavinsky’s voice rasped at the thought of the pills, “Fun! Let’s not talk about that ever again,” (ignoring that he had brought it up himself).

Next thing Ronan knew, Kavinsky was on his lap (chains clinking against the console), grabbing him by the back of his head for lack of hair.

“Tell me it’s not a lie when you kiss me,” Kavinsky said. He sometimes forgot to curse when they were alone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ronan asked, confused. He was bad at talking.

“Tell me I’m not just, a Gansey clone, or a pity fuck cause Parrish is straight as hell.”

“You look nothing like either of them,” Ronan got out. Kavinsky slammed his head back against the head rest. Ronan didn’t really mind.

“You know what I fucking mean, Lynch,” he growled; the heat in his eyes made Ronan swallow audibly.

“Just tell me you won’t fucking leave again the second you have no use of me anymore,” Ronan had never heard Kavinsky speak words so openly vulnerable, not even when he was down with that withdrawal fever for a week (begging for someone to _just please kill him_).

Ronan let his head fall forward momentarily before looking up again, his hands grabbing at Kavinsky’s waist, nails digging in.

“Fuck, K, are you blind? You’re the- fuck, I fucking hate you, man, you know I do, but you’re the, fuck, the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen and I can’t-“ Ronan felt choked up. Talking really wasn’t one of his strong points. So, he kissed him. He only let go when Kavinsky was gasping for breath in between touches.

“Does this feel like a fucking lie, Kavinsky?” he asked then, wrenching his head back by his (pretty, dark, stupidly soft) hair. Kavinsky smiled broadly. He looked like he was high.

“I could have stolen you, princess, maybe you’re not real,” was he shaking? He shook his head, mumbling something like _these fucking pills _and steadying himself by slinging his arms around Ronan’s neck. Then, he pushed down in Ronan’s lap. Ronan groaned.

“K- “ he stuttered, but the boy kept going, twisting and writhing like a fucking stripper, “Fuck, is that what you want, Lynch? You wanna fuck me? Huh? You wanna hold me down by my throat, baby?” Ronan’s mouth was dry and watering at the same time.

“Answer me, sweetheart,” Kavinsky said, nails digging into Ronan’s neck. His hips twisted. Ronan nodded; eyes wrenched shut. If he had hair to grab on, Kavinsky would’ve, he thought then, as the other growled at him, hands tightening. “Use your fucking words, Lynch, or I’ll stop right now.”

“Yes, yes, K, please, wanna-“ Kavinsky thrust down (Ronan held back a moan). His eyes said _talk. _“Wanna fuck you, please, can I? Please, please, please, you’re so pretty like this, K,” he let go. Rambling all these words that made him blush from his ears to his chest. Kavinsky laughed, chest rumbling.

“Oh, princess, you prove I didn’t forge you. Wouldn’t act like such a fucking bottom, Ro,” he cooed, “but don’t worry, I’ll get you there, sweetheart.” Ronan whined when Kavinsky lifted into a kneel so their hips weren’t touching anymore, grappling at clothed flesh. This earned him a slap to the thigh.

“Come on, princess, lift up, gotta get out of these fucking pants,” he mumbled, tugging at Ronan’s skinny jeans, “why’re these so tight? I mean, your ass looks great in ‘em, baby, ‘m not complaining,” Ronan groaned at him in embarrassment. “I mean, it’s not America’s Ass, but you’re my Miss Virginia, baby,” Ronan couldn’t stand his rambling.

“Shut the fuck up, Kavinsky,” he snarled. Beginning to tug at pants and shirt as well. It was a tight fit in the Mitsubishi. With a searching hand, he found a switch and the seat shot back, throwing Ronan out of balance and down with it.

“Oh, I _love_ this position, sweetheart,” Kavinsky said, crouching down to step out of his own pants after ridding Ronan of his and tugging his shirt all the way open (Ronan’s was stuck over his arms, he didn’t move to get it all the way off). He left it on though. Ronan gave him a look. Kavinsky slipped one sleeve over his shoulder and winked at him, chains hitting his chest in a glittering rhythm.

“I like the way it feels,” Was the only thing Kavinsky offered as an explanation. The tattoos on his chest were exposed – it was not one solid symphony of art like the one on Ronan’s back, but rather an assembly of all kinds of things, like a treasure chest (a grenade over his heart, a dragon on his sternum, a spreading rose on his pelvis).

Then, Kavinsky grabbed him by his tangled shirt, pulling him up – Ronan’s back arched. Kavinsky kissed him, not for long, before moving on to his neck. Ronan had a sensitive neck. It didn’t take long before he was writhing under tongue and teeth, tiny red marks covering his skin. He only managed to push out a _please. _Kavinsky sat back a little. Letting Ronan untangle his arms while rummaging through the glove compartment.

“You’re lucky I keep everything you might need in here, princess,” he said, pulling out a condom and a small bottle of lube. It was strawberry flavored, because of course it was. But the bottle was ignored for now, Kavinsky pressing his fingers to Ronan’s lips,

“Open up, sweetheart,” he purred and Ronan obeyed. His mind was in blank mode. The only thing on it was _Kavinsky Kavinsky Kavinsky Kavinsky_ as his fingers pressed down onto his tongue, making Ronan salivate. He was almost careful. Instead of shoving them down his throat, he let Ronan carefully close his mouth, tongue curling around the two fingers in his mouth.

His eyes were wide. Kavinsky’s were lidded. Kavinsky smiled lazily. Ronan moaned around the fingers in his mouth.

“Now, Ro, let me show you how to spread someone open until they’re begging for your _big, fat cock_,” (the way he said each word made Ronan want to come and also hide in the trunk). Then, Kavinsky pulled his fingers from his mouth, pulling Ronan’s right hand with him, spit seeping between them.

Kavinsky turned around in Ronan’s lap. He looked back over his shoulder, the shirt revealing half of just another dragon curling along his shoulder blades.

“Don’t look away, sweetheart,” he whispered, guiding their fingers to his ass, his other hand reaching back to pull at the flesh, spreading himself open and- oh god, Ronan was gonna scream. His eyes fell shut.

“Don’t be a virgin, Lynch,” Kavinsky snarled, circling his rim with one spit slick finger, purposefully ignoring the lube next to his thigh, “touch me,” he said then, more softly, “’m not a fucking ghost, I won’t disappear on you.”

As Ronan finally mustered up the courage to touch Kavinsky’s ass, fingers dimpling the pale flesh, the other had one finger already knuckle deep. Ronan whined.

“Need some more lube, princess, help me out there,” he pressed out between his teeth and Ronan scrambled for the bottle, grudgingly letting go of Kavinsky’s ass to pop the bottle open. Then he hesitated.

“Just squirt some on there, Jesus fucking Christ, Lynch, you’re such a fucking virgin, you’re lucky that you’re cute,” Kavinsky groaned. Ronan did so. The noise made him blush. Kavinsky pushed another finger into himself and started scissoring them. Ronan felt very helpless and unnecessary so he decided to distract himself by kissing Kavinsky’s neck and shoulder. They were pretty.

“Come on, Ro, stop being such a pussy and use some fucking teeth,” Kavinsky bossed him around like a fucking dog. Ronan was feeling wet in a general sense. Ronan bit down hard. Then, he sucked. That’s how hickeys were made, right? By the moan Kavinsky produced, he was doing something right. He tightened his fingers around K’s ass.

“Wanna finger me, baby?” Kavinsky asked, pulling Ronan out of his half-confident state. “Uh,” he answered. His hand was already being pulled to the general vicinity of _asshole_. He wasn’t really touching yet.

“You might wanna look, sweetheart,” K said and Ronan swallowed down spit before letting his gaze fall. He hadn’t even noticed a third of Kavinsky’s fingers making an appearance.

“Don’t panic, princess, I’m already open for you, just want you to feel, Ro,” Kavinsky drawled and Ronan almost came on the spot. His finger was guided to where the others were and then it pressed in.

It was tight and warm and Ronan’s eyes slid shut again as he bit his lip. Kavinsky moaned. They just stayed like that for a moment, before Kavinsky thrust his ass back on them and Ronan choked at the feeling. This was only his finger for fucks sake. He let his teeth snap back onto a familiar place in the juncture of Kavinsky’s neck and shoulders.

“Okay, baby, okay, okay, that’s good,” Kavinsky rambled, then pulling their fingers out. He turned back around to face Ronan gripping his chin.

“I swear to god if you come in like two seconds, I will _kill you_, or break your nose – or both,” he snarled and let go and Ronan moaned. Before he knew it there was a condom on his dick and Kavinsky’s warm hand spreading lube over it. He lifted himself up onto his knees.

“The things I do for you, Lynch,” he said, before sinking down on Ronan’s cock. He screamed just a little. His nails were digging into Kavinsky’s waist and his teeth scratched on a sharp collarbone. He tried to breathe, but couldn’t really.

“Fuck, so big, princess, so good for me, filling me up all nice and full, Ro,” Kavinsky mumbled, rotating his hips a little to get used to the feeling. Ronan felt like crying because it felt so good. Kavinsky’s hand was on his throat.

“Lynch if you don’t pull my hair right the fuck now, I’m getting out of this car and I will get Dick III Gansey to fuck me over his ugly Camaro,” he spit out and Ronan couldn’t suppress the whine slipping from his lips.

His hands wound into Kavinsky’s hair and wrenched his head back to expose white columns of skin to his teeth. They wore matching bruises on their necks for the next week.

Kavinsky was now full on riding him like he had been payed to do it and Ronan was at the same time so far gone and so into Kavinsky (both literally and metaphorically) that he couldn’t bear letting go of him. The noises of skin hitting skin and loud breaths and moans filled the Mitsubishi and the air was heating up. Ronan’s body tingled all over.

“I’m not gonna- K _I can’t_-“ he pressed out into his neck. Kavinsky groaned, speeding up his thrusts, hand closing around his dick. Ronan would help but he was occupied trying very hard not to come on the spot. Kavinsky’s breath came heavier.

“You gonna come for me, princess? Gonna fill me up with your come, Ro? You gonna do that for daddy, huh?” he said, lips touching Ronan’s ear with every word. Ronan whined. Too far gone to do much else.

“K,” he just gasped out, still trying to glare at him with disgust. It didn’t work but Kavinsky got the message. But Kavinsky was also the devil of Virginia.

“What? You don’t like when I say that, princess? But it is what it is, sweetheart. You’re my baby, aren’t you? Or do you only call your Gansey daddy? Or Parrish, huh? He do this for you, Ro?” he asked, hips snapping down faster and faster.

“Nuh, uh-uh, I- please, K,” he gasped out, voice high and whiny.

“Do they fuck you this good, Lynch? No? Who d’you belong to, princess?” he pushed further, Ronan’s eyes slipped shut and his mouth fell open,

“’m yours, K, please, lemme-“

“Let you come? Oh, do you think you deserve that, princess? Did you do good?” Kavinsky drawled, his fist sliding over his dick with dangerous speed. This was a race. Ronan shook his head.

“But I’m so nice, am I not, Ro? I’ll let you come, just like you asked. Come on, baby, fill me up,” his voice was beginning to rasp with the effort. Ronan was closer to the edge than ever before. He rutted up into Kavinsky, hands grabbing at every part of him he could.

“Please, please, K-, I’m gonna- gonna come, daddy, please, lemme-“ he was rambling, not thinking anymore, brain shut off.

“Go on, then, sweetheart, such a good boy,” Kavinsky cooed, pressing a deep kiss to his lips and squeezing around his throat.

Ronan closed his eyes. Behind his lids, everything was black dotted with white stars.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi in the comments or visit me on tumblr @creabirds if you want me to write more!! (i need to write smut for these two or my heart might begin to fail)  
also pls dont leave any spoilers for the rest of the series if you can avoid it :)


End file.
